Mommy McCoy
by Carynna
Summary: After a brief excursion on an alien plianet reverses the aging process and turns the landing party into toddlers, it's up to McCoy to save the day without losing his sanity.
1. Mommy Time

**Disclaimer: Although in my daydreams, they're all mine, I am obligated to formally state that none of these characters belong to me.**

**Mommy McCoy**

_Captain's Log:_

_Stardate 4620: We're beaming down to the surface of the planet Er-tong with an away mission team of Mr. Spock, Lieutenant Uhura, Ensign Chekov, and myself. This planet, as far as we know, is chiefly uninhabited. However, seismic interruptions have caught the attentions of the Federation, as the planet's surface is not known to have any notable earthquake faults. In addition, there have been oddly high emissions of an as-yet-unidentified gas emerging from quake-caused fissures. Our mission is to investigate these earthquakes and discover their origins. _

"_Scotty, you have the con," Kirk had said, his trademark grin spread wide across his face. _

* * *

McCoy stood anxiously by the transporter. It had been more than three days since the expedition team had beamed down to the surface of Er-tong. They should have been back several hours ago. No distress signals had been sent, nor had Kirk contacted the Enterprise.

How could he help but worry? There was any number of disasters that Kirk could have gotten into on the planet. There could be toxic gases, there could be ballistic missiles disguised as flowers, there could be crazy ex-wives hiding behind every tree. McCoy scowled again.

"Don't fret, Bones," Scotty said. "There's been no bad news. Just give it a bit of time."

"I'm a doctor, dammit, not an optimist," McCoy growled.

As he glared at the engineer, a sudden beep pervaded the still air of the transporter room. Four glowing dots appeared on the screen. "Kirk to Enterprise," a thin, oddly high-pitched voice said. "Beam us up!"

"Thank god." McCoy allowed himself a small smile.

Scotty's fingers flew across the console. "All right…incoming…3, 2—hm, that's odd—1!"

"What's odd?!"

"The readout's showing that the incoming beings are well, _smaller_, than they were when they beamed out."

"What?!" McCoy blanched. He opened his mouth to begin a furious tirade about the stupidity of space when four crumpled figures materialized on the transporter pad.

Out of one of the huddled masses on the floor rose a small, but resolute figure.

McCoy and Scotty gaped. There was no doubt as to the identity of the being—that sandy hair and confident stance could only belong to Captain James T. Kirk.

But this Kirk was rubbing his eyes sleepily. This Kirk was pursing his lips like he was about to throw a temper tantrum. This Kirk was about three years old.

The little boy blinked slowly and fixed his gaze on the good doctor.

What happened next had many possible descriptions.

The adult Kirk would have called it hilarious. Uhura would have called it sweet. Spock would have called it the natural animal process of filial imprinting. McCoy could only describe it as pure horror.

"Mommy?"

"Ah, hell no!" McCoy shouted. "I am NOT your mommy! I'm a _doctor_!"

The other figures rose—clearly small, toddler-aged versions of Spock, Uhura, and Chekov. They gazed impassively at McCoy for a fleeting moment. Then, all together, they pounced.

"MOMMY!"

_**~tbc~**_

_**A/N: Was it awful? Was it okay? Was it--dare I ask--funny? Let me know! =] **_


	2. Snack Time

**Mommy McCoy: Chapter 2**

**A/N: Thanks for all of the nice reviews! Writing the fics is already super rewarding, and reading all of your comments is the cherry on top =] Okay, let's begin where we left off:**

"GET OFF OF ME!! I'M A DOCTOR, NOT A MONKEY BAR!"

As he frantically shook the toddlers from his body, McCoy silently cursed everything and everyone in known existence. This could not be happening.

"I am going to close my eyes and count to three, and these children will be gone. I will not be mommy. All things will return to normal." he said out loud, squeezing his eyes shut. "1. 2. 3."

He opened his eyes to see a tiny Chekov fiddling with the buttons on the transporter and babbling happily in Russian. "Dammit."

McCoy sighed, knowing that he couldn't just pretend that the situation didn't exist. "All right," he told Scotty. "Let's bring them to the bridge. I'll try to fix their….condition there. And I figure you're in command, what with the captain and the first officer both compromised."

"We'll have to carry 'em," Scotty said, scooping up Uhura and Chekov. "Can you walk with me, Mr. Spock?"

The small Vulcan, who had been standing patiently beside the transporter, nodded.

McCoy sighed, slightly relieved. "At least the pointy-eared bast—" he stopped, silenced by a reprimanding glare from Scotty.

"They're children!" the engineer hissed.

"Fine. At least the pointy-eared _Vulcan _will listen to reason. Happy?"

He looked around. "Shit! Where's Jim?"

A sudden crash resounded from the hallway, answering his question. The doctor's eyes widened, and he sprinted out of the transporter room after the tow-headed toddler.

_There's plenty of ways for a kid to get hurt around here!_ he thought frantically to himself. _Wait—why am I worried for his safety.? Am I being…_maternal?

The disturbing thought temporarily left his mind as he caught up to Jim. Grabbing the boy by the legs, he swung him over his shoulder. Kirk screamed angrily and beat his tiny fists against the doctor's back.

"Let me goooo!!!" he screamed.

McCoy did not honor the request until he had reached the bridge, where Scotty was waiting. Then he unceremoniously dumped the small boy down on the empty command chair.

"What the hell are we going to do with them?" McCoy said. He had half a mind to simply inject all of the tiny tots with his strongest tranquilizers and leave it at that. But they were just too damn...cute. And besides, the sickbay was hectic enough without the addition of four screaming toddlers who would undoubtedly destroy everything in sight.

"Mommy!" Uhura shrieked as she affixed himself firmly to the doctor's left leg. They were looking less cute by the second.

"For the last time, I am NOT your mommy!" McCoy bellowed. "Well?" he demanded, shaking the squirming little girl off of his calf. "What are we going to do?"

"I suppose they'll have to eat, " Scotty said, gazing down at the gaggle of children swarming the bridge. "What should we feed 'em?"

"Sedatives," McCoy said bitterly.

Kirk glanced up, apparently having heard something about food. "Mommy! I'm hungry. It's been a bajillion years since I had a snack!"

"_I'm a doctor, not a den leader! I am _not_ making them snacks!"_ McCoy thought.

"Actually," a cool voice interjected. Its flawless diction sounded utterly bizarre coming from a three-year-old. "It has been exactly twenty-two minutes and forty seconds since you last ingested an edible."

"Don't worry, Jimmy my boy," Scotty said cheerfully. "I'll make ye a sandwich. " He hurried off towards the galley. "Have fun with the kiddies, doctor!"

McCoy scowled. "Sulu! Here." He thrust a cooing Russian toddler at the helmsman. "He's your responsibility now."

"Um…okay." Hikaru Sulu did his best to look unfazed as he held the boy at arm's length.

"Ahh!! Teeckle!!" Chekov giggled.

Sulu grinned and plopped the ensign down behind his normal console. "Okay, Pavel, you're what—three? So tell me, what's the square root of 5,476?"

Chekov blinked his big blue eyes in thought. "Sewenty-four!"

McCoy smiled grimly. _"That's one down,"_ he thought to himself. _"Now I just have to figure out what to_ _do with the others…" _His thoughts were interrupted by a loud sob.

"Mommy!" Uhura cried. "Spocky won't hold hands with me! He says I have cooties!"

"It is an established fact that the opposite gender of a pre-adolescent age must carry invisible sources of undesirable bacteria," Spock declared.

McCoy felt the vein in his left temple popping out._ I can deal with medical emergencies. I can deal with vicious aliens. But I _cannot _deal with playground romance!_

At that moment, Kirk chose to interrupt his thoughts, an interruption that did not alleviate the doctor's oncoming migraine.

"SPOCK AND UHURA, SITTING IN A TREE. K-I-S-S-I-N-G! " Kirk was quickly silenced by a flying shoe belonging to a very disgruntled baby lieutenant.

Scotty returned with a platter of sandwiches. "Eat up, laddies! And lass!"

Unrequited love temporarily forgotten, the toddlers flocked to the food.

"Scotty?" McCoy mumbled in a completely defeated voice. "Do me a favor, would you? I need bourbon. Make it a double."

**~TBC~**

**Aww, poor McCoy! Don't worry, he's got lots more headaches yet to come! I know Uhura is kind of OOC, but making Bones deal with whining children is soo much fun. Major thanks to my lovely beta not_jackie, who puts up with my random e-mails that usually start with "omfg!! idea for crack!fic!!" **

**Review, por favor? *cheesy grin***


	3. Exam Time

**O HAI THERE. So it's been…five months since I updated, which is almost half of a year, and for that I am very, very, (and for Chekov)—wery—sorry. But scroll thy mouse down and perhaps I shall be forgiven? **

**Exam Time**

As the toddlers devoured the food, McCoy stood a small distance away on the bridge, wondering how the hell he was going to fix this disaster. _Obviously, I'm going to have to run tests on them, figure out what turned them into runts. Great, Jim's going to raise a huge stink about that. And what are we going to tell the crew? It's definitely not good for crew morale, when the bridge crew is more interested in playing peekaboo than running a starship. _

Kirk, clutching a sandwich in each hand, waddled up to the doctor. "Mmmm rmmmmfmfmm," he said, attempting to speak while harboring a huge mouthful of peanut butter and bread.

"Chew your food, kid," McCoy absentmindedly said as his mind churned with all of the things he and Mr. Scott were going to have to do.

The tiny captain swallowed and stood up as tall as he could manage, ready to state his case. "I wanna cookie!" he said petulantly, stamping his small foot for good measure.

In the time it had taken for Kirk to gulp down the sandwich, McCoy had formulated a plan. "No cookies," he snapped, not unkindly. "If you're good, you can have an apple later. You like those. C'mon, Jim. You too, Spock. Scotty, Sulu, you two stay and watch the others."

"Aye, doctor," Scotty said. "Where are ye taking 'em?"

McCoy shook his head and pressed a finger to his lips with a pointed glance at Kirk. "Medical bay," he mouthed silently.

"Ah, I see," the engineer murmured. Then he brightened and said in an overly loud voice, "Well, have fun in the recreation room, kiddies!"

* * *

Bones, with Kirk firmly ensconced under one arm and Spock obediently following, entered the turbolift that led to the ship's medical bay. Luckily, no one had spotted the well-respected, but now oddly misbalanced, trio as they traveled through the spotless corridors of the Enterprise. _At least they _were _spotless,_ Bones thought to himself, as he glanced over his shoulder to see the trail of bread crumbs Jim had left behind them.

"Are we there yet?" Jim asked, munching on the remainder of his PB & J.

"Almost," Bones replied. "Just a few more minutes and you'll get to play all of the games they have in the rec room. You'd like that, right?" _God, I hate lying to children_, he thought.

"Doctor, may I have a word?" Spock asked, gazing placidly at McCoy.

"Yeah, Spock?"

"This is not an efficient route to any rec room on board, Dr. McCoy. In fact, we made several detours past the recreation rooms on decks 3 and 4. May I ask where we are being taken instead? Your current trajectory indicates either the engine room or the medical bay."

Despite his seeming focus on his sandwich, Jim Kirk had been listening to every word that the science officer had said—particularly the last two. "MEDICAL BAY?!" he all but shrieked. "I don't wanna—"

Fortunately for McCoy, who quickly clapped his hands over the captain's mouth, they had reached their destination. The doors whooshed shut behind them. _Crunch time._

"Nurse Chapel, I need two beds for incoming patients." He paused for a moment. "Child-sized."

"Child-sized?" Chapel repeated the order, thinking she'd misheard, until she turned the corner to see the chief medical officer and the two children he had in tow. She stared bemusedly at them for a moment, then snapped back to attention. "Doctor, is that—"

"Yes, Chapel, it is. I'll explain in a second, just get the beds ready, all right? And let the other medical personnel know that they can leave their posts and resume their shifts in three hours."

"Right away, sir."

Moments later, both toddlers were strapped firmly to Starfleet gurneys specifically crafted to harbor juvenile patients. Not without struggle, of course, not so much from Spock—"I trust, Doctor, that this will be a routine examination"—but McCoy ruefully rubbed sore spots on his side and shoulders where Kirk had skillfully placed surprisingly effective kicks and punches.

"All right, this shouldn't take too long," he said, skillfully dodging another flailing leg.

McCoy programmed the medical unit to analyze the two according to standard Fleet protocol—height, weight, age, any genetic or acquired anomalies. The unit correctly identified both officers: "James Tiberius Kirk, Captain," followed by something totally unintelligible to McCoy's ears, "…Spock, First Officer."

In its monotonously soothing voice, the unit continued: "Analysis of Captain Kirk. Height: 3 feet and 6 inches. Weight: 34 pounds." McCoy held his breath—the next statistic would determine every subsequent course of action. "Age." The computer paused, mechanisms whirring as it computed and calculated. "Age: 29." Genetic anomalies: none. Acquired anomalies: regressed mental abilities, diminished body size and maturity."

McCoy frowned. "Strange," he muttered to himself. "He looks and acts like a three year old, but the unit still reads him as his real age." He thought quickly. _The unit bases age upon the length of the telomeres in the DNA. If the shrinking process of the telomeres hasn't been altered, what caused the external and mental transformations?_

A screech interrupted his thoughts. "I wanna get OUT!" Kirk howled, pounding his small fists against the metal restraints. McCoy absentmindedly reached for a hypospray filled with sedative and prepared to jam it into Jim's neck, just like old times. But as he looked down at the small boy whose blue eyes were filled with a combination of fury and fear, he let his arm go limp. "Dammit, Jim, I'm a doctor, not a humanitarian!" he growled. Nevertheless, he begrudgingly pressed the release button.

Kirk promptly jumped nimbly off of the bed, all traces of terror replaced with pure triumph. He delivered a swift kick to McCoy's shins ("Ow!") and ran as fast as he could towards the med bay doors, only to be scooped up in the firm arms of Nurse Chapel.

"And where do you think you're going?" she said sternly to the small boy. "Is that any way to treat your doctor? That's a timeout for you." She nudged the boy towards a nearby corner of the sickbay. "You're going to stand there until you can behave yourself properly." She shook her head in amused disbelief. "Honestly, captain, I would be lying if I said I've never wanted to do this. Now shoo!"

With uncharacteristic obedience, Jim scurried to his corner, a sulky pout forming on his unlined face. "Fine. Be that way," he said, in the snarkiest comeback his three-year-old mind could summon.

The momentary distraction gone, McCoy turned his attentions back to the tests. Spock, who had decided to meditate while he was lying still on the cot, displayed the same results: different physique, different mental state (though Spock's four-year-old mind seemed far more developed than Kirk's), same biological age.

McCoy shook his head as he contemplated the endless questions that still loomed before him: _what caused the transformation? More importantly—what could be done? _

"Doctor?" Chapel hesitated as she sought McCoy's attention, knowing that the officer hated being disrupted during his thoughts and diagnoses. "Mr. Scott has requested you, Kirk, and Spock's presence on the bridge. He says it's urgent."

Bones nodded brusquely and lifted Spock down from the examining bed. "Come on, Kirk, time-out's over," he called.

The doctor strode out of the medical bay and into the corridor, when he noticed the absence of the pitter-patter of tiny feet. He looked back to see Kirk and Spock whispering solemnly to one another. "Come on!" he said impatiently.

Spock stepped forward resolutely, his voice thin but unwavering. "Dr. McCoy, since both Jim and I have been subjected to your medical examinations and have thus been unduly quartered in this facility, we request that you administer an additional medical procedure."

"What?!" Bones exploded. "What kind of medical procedure could you little rugrats possibly want?"

"Since we are to return to the bridge and thus the presence of Lieutenant Uhura, it is clearly imperative that we both be vaccinated against her malignant aura."

"Err.." McCoy, was, for once, at a loss for words. "What?"

For the umpteenth time in her career upon the Enterprise, Christine Chapel buried her face in the sleeve of her uniform in an attempt to stifle the laughter that threatened to erupt as she took in the priceless expression on the chief medical officer's face at the young Vulcan's response.

"Simple," Spock replied matter-of-factly. "We are in obvious need of cootie shots."

**~tbc~**

**(A/N: Sorry this was such an uninteresting chapter…plots don't just establish themselves, unfortunately =[ But no worries, in the next chapter, lawls will make their presence known again…though who knows how many months that installment will take me to post? **

**Hugs and kisses to you all as I continue to delay the writing of my 10 page sociology final! **

**P.S. This year, in lieu of Christmahanukwanzakah presents, please send reviews to Carynna. Thank you.**

**P.P.S. Extra hugzz to those who find the LOTR reference!) **


End file.
